The Border Trilogy by Amanda Scott

meant to please her. Still, there had been a time or two—like the previous evening when she had let a hint of sauciness color a reply to her father—when Douglas had surprised her with a reproving glance, reminding her uncomfortably of that overbearing manner she so disliked and, if she had to be honest, even feared a little. All too soon now, he would be responsible, legally, for her behavior, and she had not yet determined how she would manage to hold her own against him. She knew she had been unwise to challenge him so defiantly that day near Braelairig, and she had no wish to arouse his temper now. Nor could she doubt that a confession of her ill-gained knowledge would arouse it.
    “Do you not mean to tell me, mistress?”
    Her face reddened, but she answered steadily enough, “I lost the thread of our conversation along with my queen, sir. I was but trying to remember. I think only that the king ought to have been able to intercede to stop the execution. He is the king, after all, and must have known of the death sentence against her.”
    “As to that,” he answered quietly, “you are entitled to your opinion, of course. I can only repeat what I said at supper the other evening. Jamie did send a delegation to London, you know, to plead against the sentence of the commission that tried Mary, but Elizabeth herself disclaims prior knowledge of the execution. She insists that she signed the warrant unwittingly amidst a pile of other papers and that the deed was done before she could order it stopped. If she refuses to accept responsibility, how can anyone blame Jamie?”
    “Oh!” She caught her tongue between her teeth and hoped the exclamation would pass as anything but the expression of scorn that it was. How could the man sit there, she asked herself, glibly talking of knowledge and lack of knowledge as though he were ignorant of the facts? Delegation indeed. James ought to have dispatched an army. And he could have raised one, too, if he had begun the task in October when he first learned of Mary’s danger. She dared a glance at Douglas. The expression on his face was quizzical, and she feared he would press her for further explanation. Instead, he changed the subject and began to help her put the chess pieces away.
    Not until later, when she lay in her own bed, did she realize that Douglas could not accuse her of knowing more than she ought to know without revealing his own arcane possession of the facts. She was safe enough unless she betrayed herself completely, and she hoped she had better sense than to do such a daft thing as that.
    The weather improved the next day, and by Friday the first crocus buds appeared in the garden. Douglas’s father and sister arrived shortly before noon, having passed the night with the same friends Douglas had visited ten miles to the south. They came with an entourage, for Lord Strachan had brought his own servants, of course, and was accompanied by a number of friends who had traveled with him or joined his party along the way.
    Mary Kate nearly laughed aloud when she met his lordship, for he matched his son’s description exactly. He was very much the hearty sporting gentleman, and when he greeted them, he actually clapped Sir Adam on the back, causing that impudent young man to cast her a look brimful of merriment. With an effort she controlled her own amusement, allowing Lord Strachan to embrace her in a generous hug. But she did laugh when he remarked that his gay dog of a son sometimes presented the family with the most delightful surprises. In answer to an anxious question from Douglas, he replied that although Lady Strachan had not been thought strong enough yet to undertake the long journey to the highlands, she was nearly recovered from her recent indisposition.
    “She sent a message to you, my little beauty,” his lordship said to Mary Kate as he searched diligently through capacious pockets in his cloak. “Made her write it down, so I wouldn’t forget what